Echoes of Truer Skins

Pouring over the pages and pages of my life

I see the wheels of memory churning

Like a carousel cycle

Brimming with the breath of something once warmth

Which carries the echoes of truer skins

Our warm nature, living in stone cave cold

Even in words, written out delicately…

The knowing is not in word

Or image

It is a masterpiece within you,

An orchestra beyond music

The fluidity and movement itself

Like water,

Yet,

Like air

Or, like the abandoned violet dust that sifts through your fingers

A returning,

A losing,

A joining

Warmth becomes true warmth

When it comes to love the cold

Warmth cannot be soft until it’s soft enough that,

When everything in it says to harden

It doesn’t